


House Party Protocol

by AetherBunny



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Anxiety Issues, Gen, indirect mentions of everybody else, spoilers for 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 08:47:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AetherBunny/pseuds/AetherBunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony thinks about them all the time on some level, he must. They're crowded around somewhere deep in his subconscious, how else could he explain it?</p>
<p>It's all downhill after that, he no longer pretends they're not them. He will conquer his demons piece by piece as they come out of the forge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	House Party Protocol

**Author's Note:**

> I was struck with an idea watching the big fight, some of the suits struck me as a little familiar. One of them wound up being a stretch...

Tony thinks about them all the time on some level, he must. They're crowded around somewhere deep in his subconscious, how else could he explain it?

He starts of course with Bruce, he always does. He imprinted on him like he was some mother bird and Tony was his ugly bug-eyed baby. He loved Bruce, still loves him, loves him somewhere between the way he loves Rhody and the way he loves Pepper. That's why he let him have the tower, after it was fixed of course.   
A suite all to himself, all of R&D to play with. Someone had to stay there while he was trying to rebuild himself. He would say it was to keep Bruce from leaving again, but that was at the foremost of his lies lately.

He thinks of Bruce and all that tightly contained potential energy. He wonders what it would be like to be that powerful in your own skin, to be indestructible without armor.

He begins to build, almost reflexively, he'll never fit into it of course, he just wants - well he's not sure what he wants out of it, but he can't stop himself. It's a wrecking ball, a juggernaut, capable of lifting, stopping, crushing, jacking anything in it's path. He wants to paint it green, but then he'll have to admit what he's done...

He wonders about hammers. 

No, there would be no flat-handed models. What kind of force would he become then? Points - he thinks after wakes himself to the feeling of a blade end being tapped against his chest and a psychosomatic crackle in his blood - like a jackhammer. He yawns before heading to the workshop. He would never be able to sleep now anyway.

It's all downhill after that, he no longer pretends they're not them. He will conquer his demons piece by piece as they come out of the forge.

There is a heavy gray model next, no frills, only what is needed to fight and defend. The only embellishments are stars plated into the bottoms of it's feet. The body design would never let him be as fast as the others, but the vintage look was in these days.

The next is beautiful, shiny and just a little slimmer than the others, a little flare to the paint on the hips maybe. He wants you to be distracted before she flies to bits taking out you and your nearest friends. He'd like to be able to program her with expressions. A look of total ennui as she put herself back together would be wax on the hood.

The last suit gave him trouble. He realized how little he really knew about the archer. Other than how archaic his weapon of choice was. Arrows, seriously? It made him think of Robin Hood and knights in armor... of course... that would do. He wondered if the raised shoulder plates would really help in combat or if they would just suggest something medieval. He wonders if the agent would laugh.

They're beautiful and terrifying and he has to stop hundreds of times to quiver and flinch and haul himself across the room because thinking about them too hard makes him want to implode. But he does it, he finishes them, all of them. Then he just keeps building, and building. There is something unsatisfied left inside him.

It's still dark when he closes his eyes, dark and starless. 

There are still echos of leviathan when things grind just a little too close to his metal cocoon.

Mach 42 - will never be right. It will never do just what he wants it to. It will never arrive on time, attach properly, truly keep safe what he holds most dear.

It is the imperfect son.

He does not sleep for fear it will turn on him. It's his suit, his skin but he swears it's trying to climb inside him and manipulate him instead of the other way around. The way it should be.

He cannot shake the feeling that this is it. It will be his catharsis, his salvation, he will chase it forever. If he can just get this right he won't have to deal with the long cold shadow with the cheshire grin, and all the void-like silence of space that laughs and laughs and reaches towards where his heart is brightest. 

When he can't catch it he keeps building, and building and building. Some of them aren't even functional, they'll just wind up as his eternal night lights.

Finally, finally it's ready, and by finally it's out of the frying pan and into the grease fire. 

Everything is a disaster. Everything is a disaster and everything works out in the end. The bad guys are gone (for now, they're never really gone for good), and 42 is gone, and they're all gone. 

And he feels better. He really does. He feels so good he takes the reactor out of his chest. Part of him thinks he's just surprised the hollywood catharsis thing actually worked in real life, and the whole thing will eventually come crashing down around him, but part of him just wants to take a good deep breath and start over.

He knows both parts are right in their own ways, but until it get worse again he's going to take care of a few things.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not totally satisfied with the very end of it, but I'll survive, I sat on the gosh darn thing long enough.


End file.
